


i hate romcoms

by oscarwildinout



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Stanley Uris Lives, beta'd perhaps we do die like men, fake dating au, long fic, not finished, richie tozier's awful shirts, the fake dating au we DESERVE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarwildinout/pseuds/oscarwildinout
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	i hate romcoms

Eddie reclined against the skirt of the couch- the couch itself was far too soft for him now and made his leg ache more when he got up from it than did the floor. The carpet was just soft enough underneath him. Nylon fiber, of course. Easiest to keep clean. Eddie traced nonsense patterns in it, staring at the television without really watching whatever movie was on. He thought he maybe recognized one of the actors, thought vaguely about taking his phone out to Google it, but he could feel Myra’s steps coming back to the living room.

“Here you go, Eddie-bear,” she said, holding out a mug for him to take. He did, mostly on autopilot. She gave him a smile before going to sit in her own chair, the La-Z-Boy groaning just a bit as she lowered herself. He didn’t really like tea, he never had. Myra knew this, but it would be rude to ignore the tea, wouldn’t it? She had gone to all the trouble of making it. It was part of her ritual: Thursday nights after dinner, turning on TV Land and watching a few oldies with a steaming mug of tea- and one for Eddie, of course. Everyone had their little routines. This had been Myra’s for the past ten years. Myra knew this, just like she knew he didn’t like her using that old pet name, but habits are hard to break. Old habits die hard, and Eddie should be grateful that Myra included him in hers.

Myra sighed. “They just don’t make movies like they used to.”

_And suddenly Eddie was twelve years old, nine, eight, younger, sitting on the floor of his childhood home, watching old movies with his mother, drinking tea he didn’t like or want. He would carefully calculate how many bathroom breaks he could take to spit a mouthful of tea, colder with every mouthful, down the sink to make Mommy happy he had finished his mug without raising any concerns. He could see it- the curtains cream instead of blue, the couch a little older, the gently fraying rug under the coffee table. The movies weren’t quite as old then, the screen not as big. The La-Z-Boy wasn’t too far off. His mother would recline, sighing into her mug, “They just don’t make movies like they used to.”_

Old habits die hard.

Eddie brought himself back to the present. “I’ll be right back,” he told Myra, pushing himself off the ground, still in a bit of a daze. At her faraway protests, Eddie waved a hand vaguely. Getting up still wasn’t easy and certainly not very pretty, but he couldn’t be bothered when there were more important things to think about: namely, getting out of the living room as quickly as possible. He shuffled into the home office, shut the door behind him, and pulled out his phone. He needed to talk to anyone else- anyone. To make sure he wasn’t crazy or maybe that he was, and someone would talk sense into him. Not Myra, though. A quick text to the Loser’s Club group chat- a single balloon emoji- and Eddie sank into the office chair. He brought the mug to his lips without thinking, but spat the tea back almost as soon as he tasted it. Eddie put his face in his hands. He could feel his breath becoming faster, more shallow. He felt the urge to reach for an inhaler that he hadn’t used in two months, despite Myra’s urging to replace it. Old habits die hard- “I married my mother,” Eddie whispered to himself, numb. Their mannerisms were the same. Their taste in decor was the same. The way they treated Eddie was the same, and that might be the worst similarity of all. He had escaped his mother just to run straight back into her arms.

His phone lit up, Mike’s face filling the screen. Eddie took a deep breath before picking up the phone and swiping to answer.

“Eddie, you okay?” came Mike’s voice immediately. He always had been the best at calling.

“Hey, Mike, I- hah,” Eddie started. To his own surprise, he started to giggle. “Mike, I married my mother.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Eddie kept laughing. If he was even slightly removed from his own Oedipal nightmare, he’d probably be concerned too. “Are you- is this what you’re calling about? What’s going on?”

“Myra, I- she- it’s all the same,” Eddie said, “she calls me ‘Eddie-bear’ and makes me tea.” He kept laughing, trying to keep the volume down so Myra didn’t come looking- but Myra wasn't there. For all that he might have been lost in this new discovery, he at least had this awareness. He realized, after Mike didn’t say anything for a long moment, that maybe these two details weren’t enough to piece together the full picture. “The pills, too, it’s all the same.”

And they were. He held out for, what, two weeks? “Myra just kept offering them. And I was already on the painkillers, and it just kind of- they’re all placebos, they’re fake, but. It feels real.” His breath started to come in shorter bursts, his laughter getting a little more hysterical and breathy.

“What are you going to do? Do you have a plan?” Mike asked.

At this, Eddie felt himself hit that fine line between laughing and sobbing and tumbled over it headfirst. What was he going to do? He ran his hands over his face Mike took an audible breath through the line, but whatever he said was lost to another memory swimming in Eddie’s mind. _He’s thirteen, he had just broken his arm, and he was in the backseat of his mother’s sedan. He hears Mommy yelling at his friends, sees it happening, the other Losers angry and ashamed but ultimately powerless- just like him. A slave to his mother’s ministrations._

Overlaid is the memory of lying in a hospital bed in Derry, listening to Myra yelling over the phone. Ashamed, angry, but ultimately powerless, he let her yell, he didn’t hang up. Even if he hadn’t been cowed by the sheer force of Myra even through the phone, he was also nursing a concussion, a broken arm, a shredded leg, and a huge gash across his back that they hadn’t been able to stitch together for nearly a week, though it should have taken much longer for even that amount of healing. He was able to let her know he’s still alive, but beyond that getting a word in edgewise was impossible. The drugs in his system paired with the sheer exhaustion and relief of still being alive meant that he was literally not able to do anything except let her talk. The pity on Ben’s face as he held his hand was slightly less unbearable. He couldn’t even look at Bill.

“Eddie? You still with me?”

It’s not easy to stop a spiral, but with enough practice anything is possible. In theory. Eddie heaved once, twice, and took a very shaky, very deep breath.

“Eddie?” Mike’s voice came again, crackly over the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Eddie sniffed. “I have a plan.” He paused, then- “This is gonna suck.”

Mike laughed. “You know what, you’re probably right.” Eddie took a moment to loose a small, tight smile. It wasn’t hard to make Mike laugh, but it always felt good. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Okay. I love you. Call if you need anything.”

Eddie smiled one more time. “I love you too.” He hung up, and immediately groaned. He did not have a plan. This _was_ going to suck.

* * *

Bedroom checklist. Shoes: running, dress in the bag, casual pair on his feet. A couple outfits: he had to get dressed every single day. If he layered up the clothes he was wearing right now, his duffle would be lighter. Suits: a couple laid out on the bed, the nicest ones. These would not be going in any bag or suitcase. All his socks and underwear.

Office checklist. The tax file. The marriage certificate. Insurance. His laptop, and god forbid he forgot the charger. All in a backpack.

Bathroom checklist: Toothbrush. Deodorant. Razor and shaving cream. He couldn’t stand how anything else smelled, so that would be enough.

Glasses. Wallet. Phone.

The only thing left to do was leave.

Eddie stared at himself in the mirror. All he had to do was walk through the living room and then out the door. He could do this.

“I can do this.” Eddie said to his reflection. His reflection offered nothing more.

He sighed, fogging up the mirror, before turning an abrupt about-face and shuffling into the hallway. Ten steps. Nine. He could see the door. He would not look back.

“Eddie?”

Myra.

He had gotten about halfway through the living room. Had he forgotten Myra actually existed still?

“Eddie, where are you going?”

It’s not like he could lie, not with two bags packed full and three jackets. What a picture he must make, stood at an angle in front of the television, running off into the night. “Myra, I’m leaving. I want a divorce.”

Myra laughed, a tight and fake-sounding thing. “Don’t be silly, Eddie-bear. You don’t mean that,” she said. He took a step towards the door.

He could hear her getting up from her recliner. “Eddie? You’re not going to leave me again, are you?”

He took another step.

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? Not again?” Myra was almost right behind him, now. Eddie knew his window might be closing- she might barricade him in the apartment for real, this time. Just another step and he could put himself between her and the door, and-

“I am _leaving_ , Myra. We can’t do this anymore.” He reached for his cane where it leaned on the doorframe with one hand, the other grasping the doorknob. He heard her start whining, begging him not to leave- nothing he hadn’t heard or ignored before. He opened the door and took the first step outside, where he knew Myra would not follow.

Eddie allowed himself one glance back at her silhouette in the doorway. Indistinguishable from her silhouette the night he left for Derry, indistinguishable from his mother’s when he left for college. He quickly planted his gaze on the concrete underneath him as she continued wailing for him, and he held that gaze long after he could no longer hear her.

After hours, or maybe fifteen minutes, of walking, Eddie looked up to see where he had ended up.

Never had 34th Street held so much potential.


End file.
